point to when he had felt this good.
Thinking about Mabel and the hospital shifted his focus. This
was a troubling train of thought. The trip to the hospital, the preparation for
whatever might come of his surgery, and even the few hours he had spent
reconnecting with Mabel were all fresh in his mind. For him they happened
yesterday, or perhaps a couple days ago. It was clear, however, that some
amount of time had passed. The technology alone was proof positive that it wasn’t
1966 anymore. It was surprisingly easy to accept that. The rest, not so much. He
wasn’t sure what to believe. The simple biopsy could have gone awry, and he
could have slipped into a coma for a number of years. He recalled the article
he had read about the woman waking from her coma after nearly twenty years. It
took her months of extensive physical therapy before she was able to perform
the simplest of physical tasks. She couldn’t even talk for weeks, and walking
again was probably unlikely. They had called it muscular atrophy in the
article. But he felt like he could get out of the bed and dance a jig right
now.
He supposed if the technology to make a television the
thickness of a sheet of glass existed, then medical advances could explain his
physical condition. However, if thirty years had passed while he played
sleeping beauty, he would be well into his sixties, or even seventies. He felt
like he was a new man, even younger than his nearly forty year old body should
feel. There was no way he was in his seventies, and what he had seen of his
body so far in no way suggested he was any older. Despite how good he felt, he
found it hard to believe that medical science would ever have the cure for
aging, and certainly not within the span of his life. Try as he could though, he
wasn’t ready to accept that hundreds of years had passed or that he had died. It
was far beyond his capability to reason and even outside the scope of his
imagination. This train of thought led to a pile of questions that he could
barely form into coherent thoughts let alone try to reason out. The sheer
volume of unanswered questions shattered his feeling of utter relaxation and
the tension, frustration, and anxiety began to build at an uncontrollable pace.
He suddenly felt an uncompromising need to learn more about his situation.
In effort to regain the sense of serenity he had held only
moments before, he shifted his thoughts again, this time to what had just
happened. When he was younger, he was a bit of a hothead, quick to lose his
temper. It had led to some bad decisions and more than one fight. Simply
growing up, along with twenty years of military discipline, had burned out that
youthful spirit. It was confusing that he had been hot tempered in his earlier
conversation with Teague. Every time the doc said something he didn’t like or
didn’t comprehend, he got seriously angry. That was simply not like him. He was
“battle hardened” and even devastating news like the death of his wife and
child or learning he had cancer had not gotten him too riled up. Ironically
though, just thinking about this uncontrolled temper triggered another jolt of
anxiety over his situation and his tension grew. The last bit clarity and peacefulness
was now gone, replaced by the overwhelming need to know .
Perhaps it was his sudden desire to explore his surroundings,
or maybe he heard the faintest sound. Whatever triggered it, he was abruptly aware
of another presence in the room. He stopped breathing, held perfectly still,
and even tried to will his heart, which had started beating harder when the
wave of anxiety washed over him, to be still. A second passed, two, then three.
Another sound – the slightest rustle of fabric or maybe the intake of a quiet
breath.
“Is someone there? Teague is that you?”
There was a hesitation and then, softly, a female voice
spoke up. “No.” It came out a little choked, like she hadn’t expected to
suddenly have to talk. She cleared her
Thinking about Mabel and the hospital shifted his focus. This
was a troubling train of thought. The trip to the hospital, the preparation for
whatever might come of his surgery, and even the few hours he had spent
reconnecting with Mabel were all fresh in his mind. For him they happened
yesterday, or perhaps a couple days ago. It was clear, however, that some
amount of time had passed. The technology alone was proof positive that it wasn’t
1966 anymore. It was surprisingly easy to accept that. The rest, not so much. He
wasn’t sure what to believe. The simple biopsy could have gone awry, and he
could have slipped into a coma for a number of years. He recalled the article
he had read about the woman waking from her coma after nearly twenty years. It
took her months of extensive physical therapy before she was able to perform
the simplest of physical tasks. She couldn’t even talk for weeks, and walking
again was probably unlikely. They had called it muscular atrophy in the
article. But he felt like he could get out of the bed and dance a jig right
now.
He supposed if the technology to make a television the
thickness of a sheet of glass existed, then medical advances could explain his
physical condition. However, if thirty years had passed while he played
sleeping beauty, he would be well into his sixties, or even seventies. He felt
like he was a new man, even younger than his nearly forty year old body should
feel. There was no way he was in his seventies, and what he had seen of his
body so far in no way suggested he was any older. Despite how good he felt, he
found it hard to believe that medical science would ever have the cure for
aging, and certainly not within the span of his life. Try as he could though, he
wasn’t ready to accept that hundreds of years had passed or that he had died. It
was far beyond his capability to reason and even outside the scope of his
imagination. This train of thought led to a pile of questions that he could
barely form into coherent thoughts let alone try to reason out. The sheer
volume of unanswered questions shattered his feeling of utter relaxation and
the tension, frustration, and anxiety began to build at an uncontrollable pace.
He suddenly felt an uncompromising need to learn more about his situation.
In effort to regain the sense of serenity he had held only
moments before, he shifted his thoughts again, this time to what had just
happened. When he was younger, he was a bit of a hothead, quick to lose his
temper. It had led to some bad decisions and more than one fight. Simply
growing up, along with twenty years of military discipline, had burned out that
youthful spirit. It was confusing that he had been hot tempered in his earlier
conversation with Teague. Every time the doc said something he didn’t like or
didn’t comprehend, he got seriously angry. That was simply not like him. He was
“battle hardened” and even devastating news like the death of his wife and
child or learning he had cancer had not gotten him too riled up. Ironically
though, just thinking about this uncontrolled temper triggered another jolt of
anxiety over his situation and his tension grew. The last bit clarity and peacefulness
was now gone, replaced by the overwhelming need to know .
Perhaps it was his sudden desire to explore his surroundings,
or maybe he heard the faintest sound. Whatever triggered it, he was abruptly aware
of another presence in the room. He stopped breathing, held perfectly still,
and even tried to will his heart, which had started beating harder when the
wave of anxiety washed over him, to be still. A second passed, two, then three.
Another sound – the slightest rustle of fabric or maybe the intake of a quiet
breath.
“Is someone there? Teague is that you?”
There was a hesitation and then, softly, a female voice
spoke up. “No.” It came out a little choked, like she hadn’t expected to
suddenly have to talk. She cleared her
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